Just a Case of the Flu
by b7-kerravon
Summary: The influenza pandemic of 1918 killed 50 million people in one year what can the Atlanteans do when a similar virus stikes at them? COMPLETE!
1. Safety First

AN: I don't know about you guys, but I am WELL overdue for a dose of Carson-whumping, and maybe a few others (if they get in the way…heheheheh…)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters to Stargate Atlantis, nor am I making any type of profit from this story. It is a work of fan fiction, for enjoyment only.

**Just a Case of the Flu**

By Kerr Avon

He leaned against the balcony railing with both elbows, warming his hands on a hot cup of coffee, and stared out at the horizon. The Atlantean sun was just beginning to peep through some thin clouds in the distance, painting them shades of iridescent pink and orange. Taking a deep breath of the fresh sea air, he sighed in contentment and sipped his beverage.

He'd always loved this time of day, even as a resident. It was particularly rewarding after a long night of moonlighting in the ER, trying to scrape together a little extra cash for daily necessities. The piecemeal traumas of the nightshift had usually been cleaned up, and the people who were waking up sick were still deciding whether or not their illness warranted a visit to the emergency department of the local hospital. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for the sunrise.

Over the ensuing years, he found that the peacefulness of dawn persisted. Even when it was more of an idea than reality in Antarctica, the five or six AM time had been _his_, to contemplate life and reflect on the future. Of course, Antarctica was where he'd switched from tea to coffee as well; nothing but that nasty instant tea to be had from the Americans. He chuckled and took another taste of his creamy hot drink; since they were running low on coffee, it looked as if he might have to switch to the Athosian tea.

He silently watched the sky brighten from violet to deep blue to the lighter blue of day. Far below him, he could hear the waves gently lapping against the base of Atlantis. A bird called out in the distance, and was answered by its mate. Closing his eyes, he just let the moment…_be_.

"Hey Carson, what're you doing out here?" Beckett's eyes flew open, startled at the interruption. Straightening up and turning to face the intruder, he almost dropped his coffee. It was their resident insomniac, Rodney McKay.

"Just havin' a wee moment to me'self," Beckett replied, hoping Rodney would take the hint and vamoose. No such luck. The man was as sensitive as a brick.

Rodney took a deep breath and peered about, blinking. "Sure is quiet out here."

"It _was_." Carson sighed. He might as well find out what McKay wanted; a physician was on call 24/7 on this base. "What can I do for you, Rodney?"

McKay stuck out his lower lip and shrugged. "Nothing. I was just passing by and noticed you standing here, so I thought I'd be sociable." The scientist clutched his own cup of coffee lightly, and took this opportunity to stare off at the sunrise. "My, this is pleasant." And to Carson's amazement, the man said nothing more, but moved to the railing next to him and enjoyed the daybreak _in silence_. After a moment of disbelief, Carson turned back towards the dawn as well.

The two men stood companionably until the sun was well and truly up, then McKay straightened and glanced at his watch. "Almost time for the briefing," he commented. "You coming?"

Carson nodded. "Meet you there; just want to swing by and get a refill." He gestured to his now-empty cup. There was no way he was facing Gate travel with less than two cups worth of caffeine in his veins.

SGA-1 had made a bargain with the natives of PG6-4X2 for some badly-needed foodstuffs. While masterful farmers, theirs was a simple agrarian society, particularly bereft in basic medical know-how. Part of the deal was instruction in simple first-aid techniques; while this could be given by any member of his department, Dr. Weir had felt it most politically-correct to send the chief of medicine. He couldn't really argue the point, so he acceded gracefully. He'd already made certain that the Jumper was stocked with the supplies he'd need, not only for the demonstration, but for the trade. Sighing, he refilled his mug in the mess hall and headed towards the briefing room. Somehow he knew this would end badly. He felt it in his bones.

* * *

"Father, Father!" Jinto and Wex came barreling over to where Halling was clearing a field for planting. He had been working all morning, but it was slow going; the field had lain fallow for millennia after all.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he stood from where he had been prying up a boulder that had caught his plow and smiled. _'Kids. Such enthusiasm for life!'_ he thought. Aloud, he called, "Yes, Jinto!"

"Father, the eggs are hatching, the eggs are hatching!" The boy's face was flush with excitement; this was the first catch to hatch in their new home. "Come see! They're marvelous."

While the Athosians had managed to transplant most of their domesticated animals, and even acquire a few more in trades with other planets through the Gate, they had experienced quite a bit of difficulty with the fowls. Something in the environment seemed to kill them off with great rapidity, and yet the native birds were unaffected. Still, eggs were a staple of the Athosian diet, so they persisted in trying. Finally they purchased a fowl from Artemisia that seemed to thrive in their new home; the whole tribe had a feast to celebrate the first catch of eggs laid. None would be consumed until a reasonable flock had been established, but it was a start. Halling's smile widened; this new world was slowly becoming _home_ to his people.

Chuckling, he decided that the boulder-clearing could wait. His son would become jaded to such wonders soon enough; he would enjoy them with the boy while he could. Taking Jinto's hand in his much larger one, he beckoned, "Lead the way."

* * *

"Come on, Carson, it wasn't that bad." McKay reassured the fuming physician, suppressing a guffaw. He could feel Teyla, trailing slightly behind, suppress a giggle as well. 

"No, it really wasn't," contributed Sheppard as they hiked back to the Gate. McKay looked at the soldier in awe; how he managed to keep a straight face was beyond the scientist.

Beckett glared at them all. "The little blighter _bit_ me!" he exclaimed, holding forth his injured hand.

Sheppard scrutinized it as they walked. "You have to admit," he finally commented, "the boy did an excellent job with the bandaging." McKay, seeing Carson's expression at that comment, was unable to hide his laughter and frankly gave up any attempt to try.

_The trade had gone off without a hitch; Markham flew the Jumper to the outskirts of the village and set down without a bump. They had been greeted by the elders and the agreed-upon supplies, and Ford proceeded to direct the offload of the items they'd brought in trade, subsequently filling the jumper with enough food to last them a month. Then, while Ford, Markham and company had flown back to Atlantis, Beckett, Sheppard, Teyla and McKay had gone to the meeting-house for the first aid demonstration._

_Now Beckett wasn't much for stage-fright, but so many people gathered in one place just to listen to him was daunting to say the least. Fathers, mothers, children…the whole town had turned out to learn how to clean a wound and apply a bandage. Their rapt attention was reassuring, and he rapidly forgot his self-consciousness as he warmed to the subject._

_"Now, does anyone have any questions? No? Well then, do I have a volunteer to practice on me?" Beckett had used both Rodney and John as models for a wide variety of dressings and splints for extremities and truncal wounds. Teyla had observed quietly as she sat next to their chieftain, just in case there were any misunderstandings, in order to better smooth them over. The demonstration had gone well, but Beckett wanted to be certain that these people could comfortably perform what they had just seen. After all, what good were bandages if you didn't know how to use them?_

_A young boy raised his hand, waving it frantically. Beckett smiled at the enthusiasm; here was a young doctor in the making._

_"All right, son, why don't you come up here where everyone can see you?" The physician figured that if the youth could manage a few simple dressings, then the adults probably understood as well. The dark-haired child scurried up to his side and stared up at him in awe. _

_Beckett squatted next to the youngster. "What's your name, son?"_

_"Tyre," answered the boy._

_"Well, Tyre, do ye think you could bandage my hand, then?" Beckett held the appendage out towards the child, who looked at it curiously._

_"But it's not hurt," the young man complained._

_"Ah know that," replied the physician patiently. "Just pretend, OK?"_

_The child gazed up at him in confusion. "But…there's no wounds."_

_"Make believe, laddie, make believe." Carson's patience was wearing thin, and Rodney's suppressed snickers weren't helping._

_Tyre was conflicted; on the one hand, it made no sense to bandage an uninjured hand. On the other, he could tell that the doctor was preparing to ask for another volunteer. Shrugging, he did the first thing that came into his five-year-old mind. He grabbed the outstretched hand and bit down…hard._

_Carson yelped in pain and surprise, jerking his hand away from the boy and clutching it protectively to his chest. Half the adults in the room were instantly on their feet; a few of the more aggressive ones had their hands on their weapons, ready to protect the child. Teyla murmured calming words to the tribe's leader as the whole group waited to see how Beckett would respond to this…misunderstanding._

_To his credit, Beckett noticed none of this; his eyes were fixed on the child whose lower lip was beginning to tremble with suppressed tears. The boy knew he'd done something wrong, he just wasn't certain what. Carson's heart melted. Carefully releasing his now-injured hand from his good one, he held it up and examined it critically. Several small lacerations, just the right size for small incisors, were copiously bleeding on both sides of his hand just below the index finger. He nodded and smiled reassuringly at the boy. "Well, now, that's certainly injured, isn't it? How would you like to show me what you've learned about cleaning and bandaging a hand, then?"_

_Tyre shyly nodded, sniffled audibly, then set about expertly washing and wrapping Carson's hand. The crowd settled down respectfully once they were convinced that no harm would come to the boy. By the end of the exhibition, Beckett was certain that everyone understood the principles and basic practice of wound care. The Atlanteans said their farewells to the satisfied group and began the hike back to the Gate._

Beckett s glowered at the astrophysicist who was still audibly chuckling. "Finding this funny, are we?" he asked in a tone which demanded a negative response.

McKay, however, was not intimidated. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he gasped for breath and replied, "Yes, actually, I haven't laughed so hard in years!"

Beckett had to admit that, had this incident occurred to someone other than himself, he might not have had the control that Rodney had thus far exhibited. Smiling despite himself, he jerked his head towards the Gate. "If you're quite through…shall we go home?"

McKay breathlessly nodded, wiping his eyes once more, and the four once more headed towards Atlantis.

* * *

Dr. Lawrence listened carefully to Jinto's lungs. The boy lay listlessly, eyes half closed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His cheeks were flushed with fever, but his dull eyes followed the physician's every move. "All right, deep breath in…and out….in…OK, you can breath normally." 

Halling stood anxiously to one side, wringing his hands and watching as Derek gave some instructions to nurse Shelly Galas in inaudible tones. He practically bowled him over as the doctor came over to discuss the child's condition. "Well, doctor, how is he? How is my son?"

Derek remained grave. "He's a very sick little boy. When did you first notice that anything was wrong?"

"This afternoon. We were watching some eggs hatch when he suddenly became pale and complained of being hot. Next thing I knew, he had vomited all over the farmyard straw."

"Is anyone else he knows sick? Family? Friends?"

The corner of Halling's mouth twitched upwards in irony. "We are all the family either of us has left; the cullings have seen to that. I feel…" he seemed to search inside himself for anything that might give a clue to help treat his child, "a little tired, but I was clearing stones from the field all morning."

"What about playmates?"

"He and Wex are inseparable; Wex was fine when we left the mainland to bring Jinto here."

"And you've never seen anything like this before?" Derek was at a loss; as a surgeon he was way out of his depth. Silently he wished for the hundredth time that Beckett would hurry and get back from his mission; the man was both a virologist and epidemiologist, and clearly the person most likely to be able to help one very sick little boy.

"No, never. It happened so fast…"

Shelly came up and murmured quietly, "104.2 now, doctor."

Derek glanced back to where the boy was beginning to thrash around, trying to get relief from the fever. Shaking his head resignedly, he replied, "Cooling measures, then. The tylenol alone clearly isn't enough. We'll hit him with broad-spectrum antibiotics, too, until we can get a handle on what we're dealing with." He took the proffered clipboard, jotted down the orders, and handed it back.

"Yes, doctor. We'll get right on it." She headed back to the youngster's bedside.

"Cooling measures?" Halling asked in concern, gently grasping Dr. Lawrence's shoulder.

Derek sighed. "Your son's fever isn't coming down with the medicine I've given him so far, so we're going to resort to more old-fashioned but effective measures. We'll be putting ice packs in his armpits and groin, as well as washing him down with cool damp cloths. If we don't get his fever down he could have seizures or even brain damage."

Halling nodded, releasing his light hold on the physician. "I understand. Please…I worry." He tried to explain further, but Derek's upheld hand stopped him.

"We're doing everything we can…but you're right to be concerned. He is very, very ill."

Halling nodded, then blinked several times in surprise. Raising a hand to his own forehead, he swayed groggily.

Derek's hand shot out to steady the taller man. "Would you like to sit down? I think this is a little much for you to take in all at once…" Dr. Lawrence had seen innumerable fathers faint at the sight of their _injured_ children; he suspected that the same would hold true for _ill_ children.

"No, I…suddenly I…." Mid-sentence, the muscular man crashed to the ground, despite Dr. Lawrence's attempt to catch him or at least control the fall.

"Nurse!" Derek called. Placing a hand to the unconscious man's forehead, he was astonished by the heat radiating from him. "No way…" he muttered, and felt for a pulse. He found it weak and rapid; placing his stethoscope to the farmer's chest, he was dismayed to hear the same rattling bronchial sounds that he'd just heard in his son. Sitting back on his heels, he stared up at Shelly, who'd just arrived with an ammonia ampule.

"I think we're in trouble," he commented grimly. "Get some orderlies and help me get him into a bed."

* * *

The four travelers were still laughing as they strolled through the Gate. Beckett had long since hidden his hand in his pocket in the hopes that they would change the topic, but no such luck. He tried to remain good-humored about it, but the jokes were already wearing thin. 

"Right, Rodney. And I'm to assume…" Beckett's latest rejoinder was forgotten as a grim-faced Weir met the team.

She turned first to Carson. "Doctor Beckett, your presence is requested in the Infirmary. I've notified Nurse Galas that you've returned; she'll meet you on the way."

Carson nodded, all business. "Right then. If you will excuse me…" He left the room at a trot.

"What's going on?" asked Sheppard, speaking for the rest of them.

"Let's go to my office and I'll get you three caught up." She turned to the Athosian warrior. "I'm afraid that this particularly concerns you, Teyla."

Exchanging shrugs, the three followed Weir upstairs.

* * *

"Thank goodness you're back," Shelly exclaimed as she met him in the hallway halfway between the Control Room and Medlab and handed him an N95 mask and nonsterile gloves. "We've had quite a run for our money the last few hours." 

All thoughts of his throbbing hand evaporated in the intensity radiating from his Chief Nurse. "What's this, then?" he asked, stripping off his field gear as they walked.

"The Athosians started coming in about thirty minutes after you left; they seem to have picked up some sort of virus on the mainland, and it's running rampant through their population."

"Oh Lord, I was afraid something like this might happen someday. What are the symptoms?"

"It apparently starts out with rhinorrhea, along with diffuse muscle aches and a low-grade fever. The Athosians for the most part don't even _notice_ these symptoms, however, since they are so similar to the way they can feel on a normal basis. Within twenty-four hours, however, the fever suddenly spikes and they become nauseous, dehydrated, and often collapse."

"Who first exhibited symptoms?" This sounded bad.

Shelly took his flak vest and handed him a white coat and paper cover-gown. "Jinto."

Beckett stopped short and stared at her. "Halling's son?" he asked intensely.

Shelly nodded, lips pursed. "I'm afraid so. Second was Halling himself; one minute he's talking to Dr. Lawrence, the next he's on the ground. At first we thought he'd fainted, but he had a fever and rhonchi on exam. Then someone brought in the boy's friend Wex. Next thing you know, we're swamped."

Carson resumed walking, but increased his pace. "What about our people?"

"No one yet, but it's likely only a matter of time. We've been shuttling over the sickest Athosians for hours now, and there weren't any quarantine precautions in place initially." She glanced at him apologetically, "We didn't think we needed any; it just sounded like a bad flu."

Beckett sighed. "A 'bad flu'? Why doesn't anyone ever remember that the 1918 influenza pandemic killed over 70 million people in under a year? That was more than the entirety of World War I. My dear, 'the flu' was the worst killer ever on our planet."

"Surely the bubonic plague…" Shelly suggested hesitantly.

"At its height, the Bubonic Plague killed 2 million people; admittedly, the death toll altogether for the Plague was 137 million, but that was spread out _over 70 years._ The influenza pandemic killed over half that number in just _one_ year."

Shelly's hand flew to her mouth. "I didn't realize…"

Beckett shook his head. "No one ever does, lass. No one ever does." So saying, he donned his mask and gloves and walked into the controlled chaos that was his infirmary.

TBC…..

AN: The statistics are actually as accurate as I could find; the influenza pandemic of 1918 was probably the worst 'plague' in recorded history. As far as the Carson-whumping goes; no, that little nip was NOT it! Just you wait….


	2. Carson Joins the Fray

AN: Sorry about the lag on updating; 'real life' and all that…

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters to Stargate Atlantis, nor am I making any type of profit from this story. It is a work of fan fiction, for enjoyment only.

**Just a Case of the Flu**

By Kerr Avon

"Sit down, please." Dr. Weir's tone was somber.

Sheppard, Teyla, and McKay looked at each other curiously as they complied. The Major leaned forward, "Elizabeth, what's going on?"

Dr. Weir answered him, but with her eyes fixed on the Athosian leader. "I'm afraid that there's a problem." Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Teyla, your people have come down with an illness. Jinto and Halling were first, but most of the settlement has gotten sick now."

The younger woman felt as if she'd been punched in the gut; all her breath went out in a _whoosh._ Distantly she was aware of Major Sheppard's supportive hand on her shoulder, but it seemed surreal. "How is that possible? We were only gone a day."

Weir sighed and massaged her forehead. "Dr. Lawrence says that it's both extremely virulent and highly contagious, at least among the Athosians. I've suspended Gate travel until I'm certain that we won't be spreading something to the rest of the Pegasus Galaxy."

Teyla nodded. "Very wise." Leaning forward, she continued intently, "May I see my people now? I would like to help if I can."

Weir nodded. "We need all the help we can get. The patients are overflowing into the hallways. I've got Bates working on setting up a nearby conference room as an infirmary annex, but it will be a lot of work moving people into it." She turned to stare pointedly at Sheppard, given his recent history of disobeying orders. "There is a table filled with clean masks and gloves as you enter the hallway leading to the Medlab. They are to be worn at all times when in the contaminated area. If the table is empty, _call someone _to bring more out. Understand?"

The major had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yeah, I get it."

McKay interjected, "Why aren't we wearing full HazMat gear?"

Weir nodded. "Good question. The doctors are convinced that this is an airborne virus, and that these precautions are adequate. However, the doctors have requested that only people involved in direct patient care enter the Infirmary, just to be on the safe side."

Rodney sat back, relieved. "Fine, then. Carson can call me if he needs me. I'll just be in my lab." He ignored the narrow-eyed glare Teyla shot him as he rose and left the room.

* * *

Beckett strode into the pandemonium that had once been MedLab like a battleship through a storm. Doctors, nurses, and soldiers who'd been conscripted as orderlies rushed frantically about on various errands, dodging equipment and each other. Extra fold-out cots had been brought in and lined one side of the room, extending out into the far hallway. The two cooling blankets brought by the medical team were being employed on two of the original medical beds, which Beckett assumed represented Jinto and Halling, the first two to fall ill. His eyes narrowed as he noted the oxygen tubing leading to the beds as well. He was sorely tempted to put two fingers in his mouth and whistle for silence, but knew that nothing good would come of it. Besides, it would be difficult to do with the gloves and mask. He scanned the room, looking for his chief surgeon so he could get a more cohesive report on current events. A familiar short-haired slight woman caused him to do a double-take, and he whispered to Nurse Galas, "Is that who I think it is?"

The nurse nodded. "Yes, even Dr. Biro has been trying to help."

That was a little worrisome. The pathologist had the bedside manner of a wounded wolverine, and clinical skills to match. Still, once in her native field of endeavor, there were none sharper. "Wouldn't she be of more use in virology, trying to ID this strain of flu?"

Shelly just shrugged as a flustered sergeant spotted her, "Nurse Galas? Can you help me?"

Beckett nodded as Shelly shot him an apologetic glance and hurried off. Catching sight of Dr. Lawrence at Jinto's bedside, he headed that direction. The Philippine surgeon was studying the child's vital signs chart as if it would yield the secrets of the universe. The small body in the bed was covered in sweat despite the cooling blanket, and the boy's chest heaved with the effort of breathing. Carson could actually hear the wheezing from a good twelve feet away, despite the mist rising from the facemask that bespoke of an albuterol in-line nebulizer. Just as Carson arrived at the bedside, dull eyes opened in the flushed face, and a small voice whispered, "Am I going to die?"

Derek put a gloved hand on the boy's forehead reassuringly, and replied, "No, of course not. You're just very sick right now, but you'll get better. Just wait and see."

"What about Father?" the boy continued.

Derek kept his voice low and comfortable despite the melee around them. "He's sick, too, but he's going to get well. You both are."

Jinto nodded and closed his eyes, relaxing into sleep as the albuterol eased the swelling in his bronchi. Dr. Lawrence just stood there a moment before sighing and looking up.

Upon catching Dr. Beckett's eye, he jerked his head to the right, indicating a nearby storage area. The two men proceeded to the relative calm of the shelving before Derek spoke.

"It's bad, Carson, really bad." Derek shook his head and glanced at the floor, then back at Carson. Brown eyes bored into blue; "It's like nothing I've ever seen. People seem relatively healthy just moments before they keel over or throw up." He looked back at the anarchy they had just left. "The kids and elderly are the worst off; no surprise there. But to watch a strong, healthy ox of a man like Halling pitch over like a sack of potatoes…" he trailed off uncomfortably.

"Tis disturbing, I know. And we could be next, despite everything. Any idea where it came from?"

Derek shook his head. "No, no one's been sick on Atlantis, and Halling's people can't recall anyone that they've traded with recently being ill, either."

"So it probably originated on this planet, either here or on the mainland…" Beckett stroked his chin thoughtfully with his non-injured hand, then shook himself. "Right now, however, the important thing is treating the patients."

As if on cue, Shelly came rushing over to where they were discussing the problem. "There you are. Dr. Beckett, Dr. Lawrence - we need you." Without waiting for their reply, she hurried off with a sputum sample for culture.

Derek shrugged. "No rest for the wicked." He turned to deal with the latest emergency, then paused. "Um, sir, it would really be helpful if you could, um…" At a loss for words, he gestured to the infirmary main unit, where Dr. Biro could be heard relentlessly questioning one of the Athosians as to their symptom complex.

Carson chuckled, despite the gravity of their current situation. "Don't worry, lad, I'll whisk her off to more useful work, then be right back to help out."

Derek shot him a grateful glance and followed the nurse.

As he headed for his crackerjack pathologist, he noted that his hand had begun to throb. _'Must remember to re-wash and re-bandage that bite,'_ he told himself.

"Dr. Biro, a word please." Snagging the engrossed woman by her elbow, he smiled at the elderly woman lying on the cot. "If you will excuse us?" The woman sighed and closed her eyes as he led away her interrogator.

The pathologist was delighted to see Dr. Beckett, and could hardly wait to discuss the disease. Carson for his part refrained from admonishing her about browbeating the patients; she tended to be insensitive when faced with a puzzle, but could be paralyzed by remorse once her faux pas had been pointed out. Dr. Biro was a very talented pathologist, both macroscopic and microscopic; he needed her to concentrate on the problem at hand, rather than wallowing in guilt.

Dr. Biro was expositing. "As you know, on Earth the problem with the flu virus is antigenic drift; that's why we never have two flu epidemics from exactly the same virus. Flu virus constantly undergoes minor genetic changes that alter the constitution of its surface antigens, and every small change makes the virus less familiar to the human immune system and reduces the degree of immunity."

Beckett refrained from rolling his hand in a Rodney McKay, 'hurry up and get to the point'. "Yes, Dr. Biro, I was aware of the concept." They walked into the quieter corridor and headed towards the virology labs.

Continuing as if she had not been interrupted, the shorter woman stated, "Then, of course, we have the much more problematic antigenic _shift_. This is thought to happen when human viral strains incorporate genes from animal viral strains, usually from birds. When a person is infected directly from a bird, they tend to become gravely ill."

"So you think that's what has happened here?" Carson asked as they walked.

"Unlikely. Avian viruses in their natural state generally infect a human only after repeated, very close exposure; when this does happen, it is not easily spread from human to human. For so many people to have gotten ill at the same time, epidemiology requires human to human transmission." Biro was in top form.

"So how does the virus manage to mutate so that human to human transmission occurs?" Beckett wanted to keep her talking until he could get her seated in front of a microscope and not in front of a patient.

Biro smiled toothily and raised a finger. "Ah, there's the interesting bit. On Earth, domestic pigs can be readily infected both by bird flu strains and by human flu strains. Those pigs act as a kind of viral 'mixing bowl' between the bird strain and the human strain leading to a _major_ antigenic _shift _in the virus."

Beckett steered her into the lab; Dr. Biro hadn't even noticed that she'd been led out of the infirmary as she'd been avidly speaking. Now she looked about her in confusion.

Pointing to a nearby microscope, Beckett suggested, "Have a seat."

"But I need to find out what sorts of domesticated animals the Athosians have on the mainland, and then I need blood samples from them to analyze."

"Yes, well, you can start with the _human_ samples; let's make certain that we're dealing with a normal virus and not another engineered nanovirus." He gestured emphatically to the rows of blood sample tubes lined up next to her elbow. "Lieutenant Ford or somebody can go to the Mainland and collect your animal blood; only you and a few others are qualified to examine those specimens and come up with a cure or a vaccine."

Biro nodded; the ego stroking hadn't hurt, either. "I'll get right on it, sir." So saying, she reached for the first specimen.

TBC…..

AN: For those of you who don't remember, Dr. Biro was the pathologist in "Hot Zone" and yes, she really speaks like that. (I'm just not sure I spelled her name right - this was the only spelling I could find). Nurse Shelly Galas and Dr. Derek Lawrence are based on some people I know, but their names have been changed.

So, what do you think so far?


	3. Investigation

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters to Stargate Atlantis, nor am I making any type of profit from this story. It is a work of fan fiction, for enjoyment only.

**Just a Case of the Flu**

By Kerr Avon

"We're supposed to do _what_, sir?" Ford looked at his commanding officer in disbelief.

"You heard me. On Beckett's recommendation, Weir has ordered us to go check out the Athosian settlement and bring back blood samples from any animals they might have living with them, particularly if they appear sick." Sheppard was amused by the young man's hesitancy.

For his own part, Ford was pretty shaken up with the request; shades of his recent brush with the nanovirus kept surfacing in his mind. He didn't mind dying - after all, he _was_ a Marine. No, what he objected to was dying from something he couldn't _see_.

Sheppard put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Ford, no time like the present to get back on that horse." When the Lieutenant looked at him like he'd lost his mind, he grinned cockily.

"I am sorry - what does mounting a pack animal have to do with gathering blood samples that could cure my people?" Teyla wanted to be certain that she understood their instructions, and the Earth people had such strange speech patterns.

"He means that Ford shouldn't let his fear of catching the virus get in the way of the mission," Rodney snapped. "Why aren't we wearing HazMat suits, again?" He shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat.

Sheppard started up the Jumper. "Come on, Rodney. You yourself once said 'If the agent is not airborne, then it should be relatively safe for us to look around as long as we take the proper precautions'. Well these," he indicated the N95 masks and the gloves, as well as cover-gowns, "Are proper precautions."

"According to whom?" demanded the astrophysicist.

Sheppard turned a 'this conversation is over' stare on him. "Beckett, all right? Sheesh." Turning back to the controls, he mentally triggered the roof release and lifted gently out of the bay.

"What sort of animals do they have, anyway?" Ford tried to redirect the conversation.

"We have an equine pack-animal, a hollow-horned ruminant mammal from which we get milk, a cloven-hoofed snouted animal known for its meat, and recently Halling has managed to acquire several egg-laying fowl." Teyla ticked off each variety on her fingers.

"I get it. Basically a horse, a cow, a pig, and a chicken." Sheppard grinned at his own cleverness. "Biro _really _wants some of the chicken-blood. Heck, it was all I could do to convince her that she didn't need to come along to supervise!"

"Thank you for not bringing her, sir."

"Thank Beckett, not me. He told her she was to valuable to be wasting time drawing blood samples." John began their descent towards the village.

McKay bristled at the imagined slight. "Oh, and I'm not?"

"Don't get your panties in a wad. He just wanted us to gather the samples efficiently, and that was the easiest way to get her to stay behind." As Teyla opened her mouth, he hurriedly added, "And that first bit is what we call 'just an expression', so don't bother asking." Teyla's mouth closed with a snap.

Sheppard grinned as both they, and silence, descended.

* * *

"I need a ventilator over here!" Derek called out, once again at Jinto's bedside. The boy had turned a violaceous, dusky hue, and was using every ounce of strength in his small frame to pull in each rattling breath. The wheezing was audible from three yards away, and despite the albuterol and the 100 non-rebreather mask, it was clear that the youngster wouldn't last much longer without help.

"I've got the crash cart." Nurse Galas rushed over with the red metal cart that always reminded Derek of his automechanic's Craftsman tool chest back on Earth.

"Great." Hurriedly he snatched the supplies he needed and, after giving the child a sedative and a paralyzing agent, slipped the endotracheal tube in with minimal difficulty. He hooked up an ambu-bag to the oxygen and listened with his stethoscope to make certain that the tube was in the correct position and not down just one lung or in the stomach. Satisfied, he straightened up and nodded.

"OK, bag him until the vent's set up." Jotting down some numbers on Jinto's bedside chart, the surgeon added, "And these are the vent settings I want to start out with. Get me an ABG after he's been on them an hour, but call if there's any problem with oxygenation in the meantime."

"Yes, Doctor." Shelly blew a loose hair out of her face as Derek headed towards Halling.

If Jinto was this bad, his father was likely next on the intubation hit parade. _'What'll we do when we run out of vents?'_ he thought. _'I guess we could have people sit there and bag them, but for hour long?'_ Continuing along this morbid line of thought, he arrived at the Athosian leader's bedside. The man was sitting up and still breathing on his own, but his ears and cheeks had turned a lavender-grey color which didn't bode well.

"How is my son?" he predictably asked.

Derek looked him in the eye. "Not good. He doesn't have enough energy to breathe on his own, so we're setting up a machine to help him with it."

"Is he in pain?" Halling was a typical father.

Derek managed a small, reassuring smile. "No, we have medicines to keep him asleep and comfortable while we wait for his body to fight off the infection."

Halling closed his eyes, taking what little comfort he could from the physician's words. Derek took a look at his bedside chart, then moved on to the next patient.

Carson, meanwhile, had been doing the work of two men or more. He pulled enough personnel out of the infirmary to adequately staff the viral lab for its research; if they couldn't come up with something to at least mitigate the symptoms, there was little point to working so hard on the victims. As a geneticist as well as a microbiologist, he knew the importance of isolating the virus and possibly finding an antibody to it. They could replicate the antibody and inject it in all the sufferers, possibly reversing or at least stopping the disease. He popped in frequently for updates, to review data, and to suggest possible alternative approaches whenever they seemed stymied.

The majority of his time was spent with the patients, however. He had gone into medicine because he truly loved helping people, and right now the Athosians needed all the help they could get. As he heard Dr. Lawrence call for a ventilator, he knew things had gone from bad to worse. Standing up, he smiled apologetically at the man he'd been examining and watched as the surgeon intubated the boy. Absently he massaged his hand through the bandage; it was really beginning to throb. _'I've got to remember to clean that thing'_ he thought for the tenth time. Turning back to his patient, he picked up the bedside flowsheet and checked the vitals signs recorded there.

"Well, now, that's not too bad," he commented as he set the chart down. Patting the patient's hand without the IV, he continued, "You just get some rest now. Everything's going to be all right." He sighed and headed over to help Dr. Watkins calm one of the frightened women; hysterics never helped you catch your breath.

* * *

"I thank you for your help, Anika." Teyla had been somewhat disconcerted to find the village so…deserted…despite the fact that she knew her people were on the Atlantis base. The elderly woman in front of her was one of the few Athosians still remaining on the mainland. "If we may see the animals, please?"

Smiling, the matriarch hobbled to nearby pen. "The drotes and ruthuns are kept in here, while the portkas," she pointed across the pathway, "are over there, with our new wasi."

"New?" McKay picked up instantly on the importance of a recently-introduced species.

So did Sheppard. "Any of them been sick?"

The lady chuckled. "Oh, no, no, no. First time, too."

'I beg your pardon?" McKay tilted his head quizically.

"First time we've gotten a flock of wasi to actually live more than a few weeks; they've always died before. We traded with the Arturans for these; nice, healthy birds they are, too." The dame was extremely pleased, and failed to notice the grim looks McKay and Sheppard exchanged over their protective masks.

Ford noticed, however, and took up the questioning. "Ma'am, did any of _these _birds get sick?"

"Oh my, honey, no. Healthiest fowl I've ever seen."

"We definitely need samples from them," Ford commented unnecessarily.

Summoning up his best General O'Neill impression, Sheppard drawled, "Ya think?"

TBC…..

AN: OK, I need an opinion - which is better: smaller chapters (1200 to 1500 words) more frequently (every 2 or 3 days) or larger chapters (3200 + words) about once or twice a week? That seems to be my writing speed (I never learned to type - thought it was 'sissy' - _what an idiot!_). So, what do you think?


	4. Meanwhile, Back on the Farm

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long - what with one thing and another…

If you don't remember the story up to this point, feel free to check the prior chapters. I've finished, so I'm posting the rest today by way of apology. Thanks for your patience.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters to Stargate Atlantis, nor am I making any type of profit from this story. It is a work of fan fiction, for enjoyment only.

**Just a Case of the Flu**

By Kerr Avon

Carson Beckett wondered, not for the first time, where Dr. Weir had found such wonderfully comfortable office chairs. A deep, soft brown material covered a sturdy, rounded frame that seemed to hold you like a mother cradling her infant. Nevermind 'comfortable'; this furniture was comfort_ing_. Right now, however, they were insidiously seductive; you wanted to curl up and fall asleep. He'd been infamous during his residency for being able to sleep anywhere; these chairs made it too easy.

He shifted and rubbed bleary eyes with his non-bitten fist, cursing the little rapscallion for the dozenth time that day. He and Dr. Biro had been working for hours checking out serum samples, but it was difficult to manipulate a microscope with a bandaged hand. The pathologist's expression had become dangerous the fourth time he dropped a slide, so he had taken a break to come up and brief Weir as to their progress. Now he found himself succumbing to the padded luxury of his seat after she excused herself to deal momentarily with a crisis in Control.

_'Well, shouldn't be too harsh on the lad; after all, the throbbing is keeping me awake,' _he chuckled to himself.

Weir strode in at that point, tossing a folder onto her desk. "Sorry about that, Carson. Now, you were saying?" She turned to face him, leaning on her desk with both hands and staring at him intently.

_'Where does she get the energy?'_ Carson thought to himself, then addressed her question. "We've almost finished the patient blood analysis; a couple of samples look like they might be developing antibodies already, but it's too soon to be certain. We've got those individuals identified, and we're observing their clinical progress. If they truly don't become as ill as the rest, or recover quicker, we'll have something to go on." He sighed, unconsciously rubbing his right hand again.

Weir nodded at the injured extremity. "What happened there?"

Beckett glanced at the hand, then blushed and shrugged. "It's nothing. Little bugger _bit_ me during my safety demonstration on the planet we just visited."

Weir smiled, "Well, take care of yourself. Is there anything else you need?"

Carson shifted. "Well, if you don't mind my asking, when will the Major's team get back with the samples from the village? We'll be ready for them soon."

"I'm sure it will be any minute now. I'll send them right down the moment they arrive." She quirked her lip as she ushered him to the door. "After all, how hard can it be to draw blood samples from a few animals?"

----------------------------------------------

"OK, this is harder than it looks," panted McKay as he bent forward, hands braced on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. He was standing in ankle-deep mud, which liberally covered his uniform as well, glaring at a nearby portka.

_Major Sheppard's guess as to the types of animals the Athosians were keeping wasn't too far off from reality. "Portkas" were large, swine-like creatures that loved mud and filth just as much as their earth-counterparts, and were just as slippery to catch. A "drote" was indeed quite equine, and resembled a good-natured Clydesdale. "Ruthuns", however, turned out to be more of a goat than a cow, both in size and temperament, while "Wasi" were ducks, not chickens. After obtaining blood samples from the humans still in the settlement, the four team-members drew straws for the animals._

_"All right," said Major Sheppard as he picked up four small twigs from the ground and started snapping them to different lengths, "This will go faster if we each take an animal. Shortest stick gets the ducks, next shortest the goats, next the pigs, and the longest has to draw the horses. Anyone got a problem with that?" Rodney opened his mouth, but shut it with a snap as Sheppard shot him a pointed look._

_As his team shook their heads, he turned his back and rearranged the twigs so that they all appeared to be the same length. Turning back around, he smiled ferally. "Who's first?"_

_"I will be, sir," responded Ford promptly. Stepping forward, he quickly chose and stepped back, staring at it uncertainly. "OK…so which one is this?"_

_Sheppard shrugged. "We'll have to let everyone choose, then we'll compare."_

_Ford was still confused, but nodded. "Sure. Got it."_

_"I'm next." McKay stepped forward and drew, then moved next to Ford and sized them up. His was definitely longer than the Lieutenant's. He gulped nervously; he really didn't want to have to deal with the huge horses._

_"Teyla?" Sheppard held out the remaining two sticks. The Athosian smiled her patented 'all-knowing' smile, and selected a still shorter stick. Sheppard then opened his hand, revealing the longest of the four._

_"OK, that gives Teyla the 'wasi', Ford the goats, McKay the pigs, and me the horses. Let's get to it, and remember to keep your masks and gloves on at all times." With that final bit of advice he grabbed his sample kit and headed off for the corral._

"Need any help?" smirked Sheppard as he sauntered up. It turned out that the drotes had been just as good-natured as they had appeared, and didn't even seem to notice the slight prick of the needle as the pilot worked his way down the line. He had made short work of the sixteen animals, then looked about for his team to see who was most likely to require assistance.

Ford appeared to be holding his own; from a distance it looked as if the Lieutenant's sample container was about half full. The young man's major problem appeared to be preventing the _other_ goats from gnawing on his BDUs while he obtained blood from his selected target. Three fairly sizeable holes in his jacket attested to the persistence of the goats. Nevertheless, the young man seemed to have worked out a method of holding the 'gnawers' back with one hand, drawing his blood sample with the other, and hanging onto the animal being sampled with his knees. Awkward, but effective.

A glance in Teyla's direction revealed a few flying feathers, but a nearly-full sampling rack, so he decided to check on McKay. Striding around the duck-pen with a wave in Teyla's direction, Sheppard got his first good view of the scientist since they had split up. His eyes widened in amazement.

The pen containing the portkas was roughly square and about ten yards in diameter. Six to twelve inches of mud coated the entirety of its floor, as well as liberally covering the snuffling inhabitants. For a moment he failed to see the astrophysicist and opened his mouth to call for him, when a nearby lump he had assumed to be another pig slowly rose and stood on two legs, panting.

_'Oh my God, that's Rodney!'_ Sheppard bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud as he watched the winded scientist lean forward to catch his breath and simultaneously glare at the pig he had clearly failed to catch.

Moving closer to the pen, John cupped a hand and called out. Rodney's head whipped up and around, focussing an even more lethal glare on him.

"Oh, I'm doing just peachy, Major. Thanks for the offer." The sarcasm dripped off the words. The scientist gesticulated wildly around the pen. "Of course I need help! So far I've only managed to corner _one_ of these Darwinian rejects, and I couldn't hang onto him long enough to even nick him!"

John held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "OK, OK, I'll be right in. Just let me set my blood samples down somewhere safe." As McKay plopped to a sitting position in the muck, John was forced to turn his back on him to hide the sniggering. Composing himself, he took a deep breath and turned back to the distraught scientist. McKay sat in the same position staring woefully at the nearby pig, who seemed to be staring back.

"Come on, Rodney. Let's get him." John radiated false enthusiasm as he climbed into the pen and resigned himself to soon being mud-covered himself.

McKay gamely clambered to his feet as the portka watched the activity warily. "What now?" he asked.

"You drive him towards me, and I'll grab him. While I hold him down, you come up and get the sample. Simple!"

Rodney was unconvinced. "Riiiiiiiiiight….." Still, he shrugged and went at it.

_'So this is where the phrase 'like catching a greased pig' comes from!'_ thought the Major the fourth time one of the animals slipped out of his grasp. He consoled himself with the thought that McKay hadn't even been able to catch one, but remembered that strength and agility weren't prerequisites for most astrophysics classes. "Damn!" he exclaimed aloud. He was preparing to add a few other invectives when he heard a suspicious snickering. Whirling, he observed Ford and Teyla leaning on the fence, laughing so hard that they could barely stand up.

"McKay," he called over his shoulder in that dangerously quiet voice that lower ranks dreaded.

"Yeah?" Rodney straightened from where he had been trying futilely once again to corner one of the beasts, and looked back at the Major.

Squinting his eyes dangerously at the pair collapsed in hysterics, John continued, "Why don't we take a break? It seems that Ford and Teyla have graciously volunteered to take over for us."

Wiping the sweat ineffectually from his forehead with a muddy hand, McKay nodded breathlessly and headed for the fenceline. "Sounds fair," he commented as he clambered out of the pen. He nodded tiredly to the relatively clean pair; at this point he was too exhausted to care what they thought. "All yours," he muttered as he passed. He trudged over to a nearby patch of grass and plopped down to watch.

Ford snickered. "Oh, come on sir, it can't be that bad. You just have to…you know, speak their language."

Sheppard glared at the Lieutenant, whose smile disappeared in a nervous gulp. "Oh, _really_?" He narrowed his eyes. "All right, Doctor Dolittle, have at it." He swept a hand grandly towards the pen.

"Yes, sir." Ford was all business now. As he started toward the animals, Teyla moved to follow.

She was halted by the Major. "Teyla, I think Ford wants to show us how it's done. Why don't you wait here unless he needs you?" He smiled ferally and shot the young officer a raised eyebrow. "After all, _'it can't be that bad'_."

Ford's nervousness visibly increased, but he kept it out of his voice as he turned to the Athosian. "Teyla, is there a particular sound you make when you feed the…portkas?"

"Yes. It sounds like…" and she proceeded to make a guttural grunting noise.

Ford listened carefully, then repeated the sound with laudable accuracy. Nodding, he headed towards the pen.

TBC…..


	5. A Beautiful Day

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long - what with one thing and another…

If you don't remember the story up to this point, feel free to check the prior chapters. I've finished, so I'm posting the rest today by way of apology. Thanks for your patience.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters to Stargate Atlantis, nor am I making any type of profit from this story. It is a work of fan fiction, for enjoyment only.

**Just a Case of the Flu**

By Kerr Avon

Derek swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, trying to ignore the fact that his throat felt like a cheese grater had been at it for a few hours. Instead, he focussed on Halling's bedside vital signs record, savagely suppressing the slight tremor as his hand flipped through the pages.

"So, how am I doing?", a hoarse Athosian voice asked.

Dr. Lawrence glanced up, startled, then replied, "Surprisingly well, I must say. Your temperature is almost normal, and your oxygen saturation is high enough that I'd like to try you off the supplemental O2." He swallowed dryly against the sandpaper in his throat, then regretted it.

"If you don't mind my saying so, you don't look so well yourself."

Derek smiled at the concern. "I'm just tired; we've all been working around the clock since Jinto came in…" The surgeon glanced meaningfully over at the little boy.

Halling was immediately diverted. His brows drew together worriedly; "How is my son?"

Derek continued to stare at the frail form on the ventilator. "Actually, I don't want to get your hopes up too quickly, but his fever has begun to drop as well. I think we might be able to wean the vent soon…." His hand flew to his forehead as his focus suddenly blurred. His vision tunneled to Halling's mouth moving as he heard _'Doctor? Are you unwell?'_ from a great distance. Then the world went away.

For his part, Halling was aghast. One moment he'd been speaking with a tired but otherwise healthy-appearing physician, and the next he was watching the man fall to the ground like a bag of cement. "Nurse!" he cried as he struggled to get out of bed. "We need help over here!"

Shelly appeared as if by magic, and knelt by Derek's side. Rolling him over, she placed a hand on the sweaty forehead and cursed at the heat radiating from him. "Of all the stubborn, idiotic…" She pursed her lips over any further invective as she gestured to a nearby orderly to help wrestle Dr. Lawrence to a gurney. As she began to take her new patient's vital signs, Dr. Beckett was suddenly at her side.

"And what's this now?" he asked, his brogue thickened in exhaustion.

Nurse Galas was grim. "Looks like this strain of flu isn't confined just to the Athosians."

--------------------------------------

"Doctor McKay…what about corn?" Lt. Ford chuckled at his own joke. He was, by this time, the only one who thought it was funny. Sheppard rolled his eyes as he deftly maneuvered the jumper towards Atlantis. Admittedly, McKay was covered with enough dirt to grow a vegetable garden, but the Major had to admit that he was far from clean himself. The fact that Ford was still relatively pristine…grated.

"Enough, already," he snapped irritably. "Doctor McKay didn't have the advantage of growing up on a farm; 'Sooooo-eeeee' isn't a normal part of his vocabulary." Ford had managed to obtain the samples they needed simply by calling them to the feeding trough for dinner and jabbing them while they ate.

The Lieutenant's smirk faded, to be replaced by a sulking scowl. "He makes fun of me; why can't I return the favor?"

Rodney swung his chair around. "Look, I'm sorry for any prior transgressions, all right? Can we just drop this and get home?"

Ford crossed his arms defiantly and stared at his boots. Taking that as assent, the physicist muttered "Good" and turned back to his monitors. They rode in relative silence the rest of the way to the base.

They were greeted upon disembarkation by a grim Weir; Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "What's happened?"

Rodney, arms full of samples, glanced up startled.

Weir pursed her lips and nodded. "Doctor Lawrence collapsed an hour ago. Dr. Beckett's with him now."

"Then let's get these specimens to Dr. Biro ASAP." Sheppard made a gesture with his head towards the door and strode towards it, trailing his team in his wake.

------------------------------------------

Beckett drew a shaky hand across his forehead, irritably trying to wipe the sweaty hair out of his eyes as he studied Derek's monitors. _'Not now,'_ he thought, _'I haven't even been exposed…'_ He had been meticulous with the airborne precautions, as had all his team once they realized what they were dealing with. If he caught it despite the masks and gloves, the whole base was going to be affected, and soon. Derek was another matter; he'd been first-contact for both Halling and Jinto. Halling was now nearly well, and his son was off the ventilator and still improving, but his surgeon was another matter. The young doctor's breathing was harsh and rattled wetly upon inspiration, which was the most worrisome to Beckett. Laying his left hand on Derek's forehead, he grimaced at the heat radiating from him. Shelly, never far away, sidled up and grasped the CMO's right hand before Beckett could hide it in his pocket. He had hardly noticed that it now throbbed constantly, and just instinctively used his left for any activity. He glanced up at the nurse in surprise.

"What's this?" she asked, indicating the filthy bandage.

Carson shook his head dismissively. "Och, a wee bairn on our last mission felt that I needed to be injured before being bandaged, so he obliged. I keep meaning to redress it, but with everything that's been going on…" he waved his left hand around to encompass the pandemonium around them.

She examined the dressing critically before starting to unwrap it. "That was two days ago. It'll be a miracle if it isn't infected by now."

Carson winced as the gauze pulled off the wound, taking some scab with it. "Be careful lass! It's tender."

Shelly pursed her lips in frustration as she surveyed the cellulitis. _'Men!'_, she thought with disgust. _'Don't have the sense to come in out of the rain!'_ The hand was tense, swollen, and exquisitely tender to gentle touch, particularly near the base of the index finger where the bite had occurred. Pus oozed from where the bandage had pulled loose the scab.

"Can you even bend that finger?" Shelly demanded tersely.

Shamefaced, Carson tried; he managed to wiggle it slightly before having to give up.

"Have you been taking any antibiotics?"

He shrugged. "I keep meaning to, but…" As if to accentuate his point, Dr. Biro came scurrying up, oblivious to the glare shot at her by the head nurse. Shelly rose to gather supplies to properly clean the neglected wound.

Biro was practically bouncing. "We've got the virus isolated! Those animal samples from the mainland were key. It seems the reason the Athosians have been having trouble raising fowl is a strain of avian flu that is specific to this planet. The Wasi that they obtained from Artimesia were resistant to the local virus, but had a new one of their own. The birds have been exposed to it for so long that they don't even become ill when infected, but when it mixed with the local variety in the Portkas…_voila…_ antigenic shift. A new, highly virulent flu is born."

Beckett's head throbbed. He _knew_ the words, but found his patience wearing thin as Shelly soaked his hand in a Hibiclens solution. Sighing, he asked, "Get to the point, Dr. Biro. How long until we have an antidote?"

The slight pathologist shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Well, more of a vaccine, really." Her personality compelled her to continue. "Of course, giving it to individuals already affected might mitigate their symptoms, but it won't…"

Beckett held up his good hand for silence as he bit back a curse. "Just…do it, Dr. Biro. As soon as the vaccine is ready, start immunizing the medical personnel most exposed, and work out from there."

Biro nodded shortly, recognizing a dismissal when she heard one. "Now, if I could get some samples from Mr….Halling, was it? The gentleman who is almost well?"

"Aye, lass. Take whatever you need." As she departed, Carson sighed and closed his eyes, once again rubbing his sweaty forehead. Ever observant, Shelly looked up from where she was debriding infected tissue from the bite site. "I think you should lie down and let me get some IV antibiotics in you. Tired, feverish…you show all the signs of sepsis."

At that, Carson glanced down at his injured extremity and chuckled. "I thought I was getting the flu myself, actually. You can't believe how happy I am that it's just from this bite."

"This _neglected_ bite wound, which is now so infected that you're septic!" Shelly was not amused.

Glancing at his hand, Carson had to admit that it looked much worse for having been ignored, but it was still comforting to know that he wasn't getting the flu. At least he knew now why the hand had been throbbing. Of course, the lack of sleep hadn't helped his immune system at all, either. Still, his responsibilities…

As if reading his mind, Nurse Galas piped up, "Doctor Beckett, you are dead on your feet, and no help to _anyone_ right now. Let me start an IV, run in some Unasyn, and you take a quick nap. I'll get you up once the antibiotics are in."

One thing was certain; he was too tired to argue. Rallying enough energy to fix her with a determined stare, he stated emphatically, "You be sure that you do, now."

She smiled reassuringly. "Of course I will. We can't let you lollygag around while the rest of us work, now can we?"

After carefully examining her face, he nodded and allowed himself to be led to a small fold-out cot in the storeroom where the staff had been catching catnaps. Despite the rough canvass, he was unconscious before she even had his sleeve rolled up.

Shaking her head in fond disbelief, Shelly deftly started the drip, then turned it down to as slow as possible to still keep the vein open. Gently patting his cheek, she commented, "Yes, sir, I'll wake you just as soon as the antibiotics are in, which ought to be about 6 hours from now…" Pleased at her obsfucation, she smiled and headed back to the main ward.

---------------------------------------------------

"Dr. Beckett!" Dr. Biro rushed back into the Medlab many hours later, waving a sheaf of paper excitedly. A quick glance didn't reveal the location of her superior, so she took a deep breath to increase her volume.

Before she could call out, Nurse Galas grabbed her arm and hissed, "Could you keep it down? I've got him lying on a cot in the storeroom catching a nap for the first time since before this hit, and I'd like to keep him there a little longer." After the first dose had finished, it was time for the second, so she had hung it without waking him. _'After all, the antibiotics aren't 'in' yet…'_

Biro's eyes widened as she nodded, then she shook the papers at the head nurse. "I just wanted to tell him; we've gotten almost everyone on base immunized now, and I've sent some people to the mainland to catch any stragglers there. This is Halling's repeat sample; the virus is essentially gone, and his bloodstream is loaded with antibodies. We're going to start producing monoclonal strains of these antibodies to administer to the sickest patients - I just wanted to keep him in the loop."

Shelly nodded tiredly. "I promise I'll tell him as soon as he wakes up."

Dr. Biro nodded and scampered on her way. _'How much coffee does she drink, anyway?',_ Shelly thought, before returning to Dr. Lawrence's bedside. Most of the Athosians had begun to improve, but Derek seemed to be getting worse. Much longer and he'd be needing a ventilator like Jinto had. She took his vital signs and recorded them on the bedside chart.

"Ah thought you were going to wake me?" hissed an angry Scottish burr in her ear. Startled, the nurse nearly dropped the clipboard before rounding on him.

"And so I was, _once the antibiotics were in_." Gesturing to the bag he held aloft, she continued, "As you can see, they're still running…"

"At 30 cc a bloody hour!" Carson interrupted her. "Nevermind that; what have I missed?" He clearly felt better; his right hand was even being used to hold the IV bag.

Nurse Galas took the bag and hung it from a nearby pole, then turned up the rate to finish it off as she updated her CMO on Dr. Biro's progress. As both concluded, she quickly pulled the IV and produced a bottle of Augmentin.

"I assume you know how to take these? I'm not a doctor, but it seems prudent to continue to treat the hand now that the worst is over."

Beckett nodded, somewhat mollified. "Still, lass, you should have gotten me up sooner…"

"Why? The other physicians have things well in hand, and I knew where to find you if you were needed. Don't you feel better after a little rest and proper care?"

Carson nodded. Much as he hated to admit it, he felt as if a fog had lifted. "Yes, lass. Just don't let this become a habit." Looking at Derek, he frowned. "How is Dr. Lawrence doing?" he asked as he moved toward the bedside.

--------------------------------------------------

Three days later, Carson was in the cafeteria, gathering food and energy to face the day ahead. It wasn't even daybreak, but the mounds of paperwork looming on his desk had made it impossible for him to sleep late. In the last three days most of the Athosians had improved and were released, returning to the mainland as quickly as possible. They left nothing but their charts behind that needed to be completed, reviewed and signed off. Some of the oldest and youngest patients had to be kept a bit longer due to the severity of their illness, but they were all getting better; no excuse to put off the charting any longer. Dr. Lawrence had been touch and go for a while, but even he was now awake and, Carson was sure, being spoon-fed soup by his chief nurse. He chuckled quietly to himself as he wished the young man luck.

"What's so funny?" McKay sidled up to the physician in line as he helped himself to a large cup of coffee.

"Nothing much; just thinking of Nurse Galas taking care of Dr. Lawrence."

Rodney pulled a face. "Nurse Galas? That battleaxe? She wouldn't even treat me when I got back from the mainland!"

Carson picked up his tray and headed for a table. "You mean she wouldn't drop everything to tend to your sore muscles, don't you?"

"Where'd you hear that," asked McKay defiantly.

"One of the orderlies." Beckett took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes in delight.

Changing the subject, Rodney gestured to Carson's injured extremity. "So, how's the hand?"

Carson glanced at the hand holding the cup; it felt good to be able to use it again. Flexing the fingers experimentally, he replied, "It's going to be fine. A little stiff still, but definitely on its way to being well."

"I thought Elizabeth was going to have a stroke when she heard about it." McKay commiserated.

Beckett stared at his coffee mug. "Aye, she read me the riot act; not undeserved, either. I should have taken better care of myself…"

"Well, you'll know better next time." Rodney shrugged philosophically, then glanced at his watch. "Hey, you got a minute? The sun's about to come up." McKay jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the balcony.

Carson smiled. "Sure, Rodney. It looks to be a beautiful day." Gathering up their coffee, the two men headed out to greet it.

The End

AN: Again, thanks to everyone for their patience…


End file.
